


In Plays and Poems

by stepantrofimovic



Category: Opera, Tannhäuser | Wagner
Genre: (sort of), Faith and Religion, I blame the Met, Mild Angst, Multi, Survivor Guilt, Unrequited Love, author has feelings about Wagner's characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 16:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5171642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepantrofimovic/pseuds/stepantrofimovic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's always someone who survives. This time, it's Wolfram von Eschenbach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Plays and Poems

**Author's Note:**

> So, apparently I wrote a ficlet about Wagner's _Tannhäuser_. Which is not actually a fandom, at least as far as Ao3 says. I blame the astounding Met production I watched on Oct 31st -- and, of course, Peter Mattei's performance in it (that man and his voice are doing _things_ to me). Plus, I've always been fascinated by the feelings of those characters who get left behind when the protagonists die tragically -- Horatio, Serenus Zeitblom, Lorenzo Alderani... and now Wolfram von Eschenbach.
> 
> (See the end for a longer AN/infodump. With pictures!)

_in plays and poems, someone understands_  
_there’s something makes us more than blood and bone_  
_and more than biological demands_  


Wolfram von Eschenbach watches the only two people he’s ever loved tear each other apart, and for the first time in his life, he has no answers.

He joins the crowd that’s asking for Heinrich’s banishment ( _they were asking for his death_ _,_ _and you were_ _one of_ _them_ ), and tries to forget the way his skin still burns from the moment his friend’s hand pushed him off the singer’s podium. He swallows back the urge to drag Elisabeth away from Heinrich, Heinrich away from Elisabeth – to shout for everyone to just stop, forget what’s happening, rather than keep pretending it makes sense.

Heinrich must leave, go on pilgrimage to Rome, ask for remission. It is, after all, God’s will.

It _has_ to make sense.

It will be best for everyone. Wolfram has faith in that. He may not have answers, this time, but he has always had faith.

***

Elisabeth is dying. Heinrich is not coming back, and Elisabeth is dying.

For months, Wolfram watches her waste away. He finds her often in the garden, in prayer. She wipes her tears when she hears him approach. She speaks to him, sometimes; to the others, never a word. The castle seems to have fallen silent along with her.

As the season of the pilgrims’ return nears, he finds her more and more frequently outside, by the road, praying to the Madonna’s icon on the pillar. More and more frequently, he finds her barely conscious.

He does not touch her. It’s unbecoming and just plain wrong. He stays away from her, an arm’s length, at least.

But she’s dying, and her body grows weak. She has trouble staying upright, and it doesn’t take more than to see her stagger for all of Wolfram’s resolve to crumble. Inevitably, he rushes to her side. At first, she refuses his help. Soon, however, she ends up leaning on him. He walks her back to the castle, then goes into the woods, alone. He takes his harp, sings about unreachable stars and uncontaminated springs, and doesn’t think about the overabundance of privatives in his life. He waits for his skin to stop burning where Elisabeth’s hand has touched him.

Then he lies down on the damp, mossy ground, and weeps.

***

Heinrich returns, and, for a moment, Wolfram’s world falls back into its proper shape. Even when Heinrich tells him he hasn’t been forgiven, Wolfram can’t help but hope. Heinrich is back. They can be whole again. Papal pardon be damned.

But Heinrich is the opposite of whole – he’s broken, incomparably more than Wolfram could ever be, with all his naive stars-and-springs-filled dreams. And then there’s Venus again, and Elisabeth –

Elisabeth is dead. Wolfram barely has time to wrap his mind around this concept, and then Heinrich is dead as well. For _that_ , Wolfram wasn’t prepared.

He kneels before their bodies, and weeps, and when the sign of Heinrich’s redemption comes he’s filled with gratitude for God’s mercy, as any pious man is wont to be in such a miraculous circumstance.

He ignores the part of him that’s screaming, that was whispering _take me_ all along – to God, to Venus, to Elisabeth. To Heinrich. He didn’t even manage to touch him.

***

“It’s not fair,” Biterolf growls. “None of this was fair.”

“It was God’s will, Biterolf.” Wolfram’s hands are curled a little too tightly onto his harp as he sits in the Minnesänger’s gathering. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him – the pious singer, the virtuous man. They’re all waiting for him to provide a reason for what happened. They need him to.

“It was God’s will,” he repeats. “I think your definition of what constitutes _fair_ hardly matters.”

He can see the revulsion in Biterolf’s eyes. It’s the kind of hatred and almost-contempt, born of natural disbelief, that one holds towards a superior man. It’s not the first time Wolfram’s witnessed it.

“Do you even believe what you are saying, Wolfram?”

Everyone is looking at him – all of them ready to surrender their judgment to his. _Not mine, God’s._

It was God’s will.

Six nights he’s spent biting his pillow, his harp lying forgotten on the floor, the strings getting twisted and damp. Six nights, and this is the only answer he has.

And he doesn’t even believe what he’s saying.

_It’s not fair._

Wolfram von Eschenbach rises to his feet and walks away from the singers’ gathering.

**Author's Note:**

> So, notes/clarifications/pics. Yay!
> 
> Title and quotation come from Neil Gaiman's [_Dark Sonnet_](http://neil-gaiman.tumblr.com/post/132361881671/chrisriddellblog-dark-sonnet-by-neil-gaiman) (I'm giving you the link to Chris Riddell's illustrated version because amazing art).
> 
> I went with Heinrich as Tannhäuser's name, because it's the one that gets used for the whole text, and it's not my fault [Wagner did weird things in the libretto](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tannh%C3%A4user_%28opera%29#Roles).
> 
> And now a few pics from the Met production. [This](http://mediad.publicbroadcasting.net/p/wosu2/files/styles/x_large/public/201510/tannhauser-met-opera-2015.png) is the first scene mentioned in the fic, with the chorus attacking Heinrich and sending him into exile. And [this](http://media.forumcinemas.ee/1000/Event_7360/gallery/Tannhauser_0794s.jpg) is Peter Mattei as Wolfram singing on the podium (before Heinrich pushes him down), with Elisabeth and her uncle watching him.
> 
> [This](http://www.gbopera.it/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/Tannhauser_5988s.jpg) is the final scene, with Elisabeth and Heinrich's bodies (I swear Wolfram was kneeling at the end of the opera). You can't see the pillar with the Madonna statue, but it's on the left, like in [this image](http://images.latinpost.com/data/images/full/57112/wagner-tannhauser-metropolitan-opera.jpg?w=600) (not from the Met production).
> 
> And [this](http://static01.nyt.com/images/2015/10/10/arts/10TANNHAUSERJP/10TANNHAUSERJP-facebookJumbo-v2.jpg) is Wolfram kneeling in supplication before Heinrich, aka the picture that started this whole fic.


End file.
